


The Games We Play

by NightMereBear



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightMereBear/pseuds/NightMereBear
Summary: The game began in the aftermath of celebration.It wasn’t until well after midnight that he saw her. She sat alone beneath the gazebo, a chessboard set on the table before her, the lustrous hair that spilled around her shoulders the envy of the moon. She appeared lost in thought, one hand hovering over the pieces, lips pursed in deep contemplation.“Princess,” Claude relinquished a tiny bow and set a hand on the back of a vacant chair. “May I...?”...The game ended in the aftermath of bloodshed.He wondered if she remembered. He wondered if she would care.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Claude von Riegan, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 27
Kudos: 94





	The Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thir13enth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/gifts).



> Hey all! So this is a commission done for [ thir13enth ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth) and I must say I had quite a bit of fun with it. I have honestly never written Edelgard before so hopefully she came across okay xD 
> 
> This commission was done in correlation with The Master Tactician zine, with all supports going to the Black LBGTQIA+ Migrant Project! Commissions are still open for both writers and artists so check out @claude_zine on twitter or go to our kofi page [ here ](https://ko-fi.com/claude_zine) if interested! Commissions will remain open through July 12!
> 
> Now, without further ado, enjoy the story :)

The game began in the aftermath of celebration.

When the glasses had been cleared away and the platters of food licked clean. When revelers had stumbled off to bed, driven to sleep by excitement’s end and the pull of a belly too full. If Claude von Riegan had possessed a mind like that, one easily dulled by a trying day, the game might never have started at all. But Claude von Riegan had a mind like no one else, and sleep eluded him as effectively as victory had in that year’s Battle of the Eagle and Lion.

He moved through the monastery’s empty halls like a wayward specter, lost in the whorl of tactical ploys and maneuvers that had unfolded over the course of the fight. Schemes that, if altered the slightest amount, might have resulted in himself as the victor instead of Edelgard. Yet no matter how he looked at it, no matter what angle he took to dissect the situation, he continuously arrived at the same conclusion: Edelgard had the professor and he did not. And so he continued to ponder, his feet taking him wherever they pleased while his mind skirted sleep like a cat around a puddle.

It wasn’t until well after midnight that he saw her. She sat alone beneath the gazebo, a chessboard set on the table before her, the lustrous hair that spilled around her shoulders the envy of the moon. She appeared lost in thought, one hand hovering over the pieces, lips pursed in deep contemplation.

Edelgard’s eyes rose as Claude approached. Ever vigilant. Ever wary.

“I’ve heard this game is more enjoyable with an opponent,” he said, nodding to the chessboard. “Not that you aren’t providing yourself with excellent competition, I’m sure. Still, no matter what, you win. Seems pretty boring to be that assured of victory.” He winked at her. “Fortunately, I have a solution.”

Edelgard’s lips twitched and a sparkle of amusement softened her steel gaze.

“Claude,” she said by way of greeting.

“Princess,” Claude responded, relinquishing a tiny bow that was more jest than mockery. He set his hand on the back of a vacant chair that faced her own. “May I?”

Edelgard nodded. “Please.”

Claude grinned and sat down, setting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his interlocked fingers. “So, do you always engage in strategical midnight activities like this or am I just lucky?”

Edelgard might have snorted, if future emperors did that sort of thing. She picked up a pawn and twirled it idly between her fingers before moving it forward two spaces.

“This isn’t exactly what I would call normal, no,” she responded. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah,” Claude said, nodding his head exaggeratedly. “You should have had more of the mashed potatoes.”

Edelgard smiled. “Perhaps,” she said. “And what about you? Is this how the Alliance’s mysterious new heir spends his nights? Strategy games and midnight strolls?”

Claude winked at her. “I prefer to keep my midnight habits a mystery. It adds to my enigmatic reputation and I’d hate to mess that up.”

Edelgard moved another piece. “Not one for straight answers, are you Claude?” she asked, sitting back and gesturing for him to take his turn. Claude leaned forward, his eyes not straying from hers.

“Ask me a question and we’ll find out,” he answered.

Edelgard contemplated him. “Even if I did, I doubt you’d be honest with me,” she responded. Claude’s smirk widened, his silence answer enough.

The game would not be finished that night.

As the first lines of gray brushed against the horizon, Hubert von Vestra came in search of his lady, suggesting that even a little sleep was better than none at all. Edelgard had looked down at the game, appearing as loath to leave the challenge unfinished as Claude himself had been. 

“To be continued?” he had asked.

“Indeed,” was Edelgard’s response.

And so their tactical dance began.

The next morning, Claude hailed Edelgard from where she stood beside Hubert in the entrance hall. 

“I believe it was my turn, Princess!” he called.

She turned to him with eyes narrowed in confusion. “Some clarification please, if you’d be so kind,” she responded, wearing the look of exasperation she seemed to save solely for him. 

“You’re right, how rude of me,” he stated. “Let me start over.” Claude took a step back, cleared his throat, then dropped to one knee in an overexaggerated gesture of obeisance. “Good morning, Lady Edelgard! You’re looking quite resplendent despite the raincloud hovering over your shoulder.” He glanced up and cocked his head. “Oh, my mistake. That’s just Hubert.”

While Edelgard did not outwardly laugh, her fingers rose to her lips as if to hide a smile.

“Did you have a point amidst all the prattle, von Riegan?” Hubert seethed. “Or do you just like to hear yourself talk?”

“I do find my dulcet timbre to be quite fetching, yes,” Claude stated. He rose to his feet, dusting the dirt from his knees. “But as I said, it’s my turn.”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” Edelgard responded, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip.

“Don’t tell me you forgot already,” Claude said, feigning hurt. “Here, maybe this will remind you.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, picturing the way the chessboard had been set when at last he and Edelgard had gone their separate ways and retired to bed.

He opened his eyes.

“Knight to King’s Bishop three,” he told her.

There was a special sort of pleasure in observing the consternation that passed across Hubert’s face at the same moment that clarity dawned on Edelgard’s. Claude grinned at her and she smiled back as understanding passed between them.

“If you are quite done wasting our time,” Hubert growled.

“Of course!” Claude responded, his eyes flicking to the man before returning to Edelgard. “See you around, Princess.” Then, without waiting for a response, he gave her a two-fingered salute and sauntered away. He wasn’t sure if she had accepted her role in this tactical dance, but he was a patient man. All that was left to do was sit back and wait.

The next day that patience was rewarded.

In the bustle of transition between lecture's end and lunch’s beginning, the imperial princess made her move. 

“Claude!” she called, drawing his attention away from Hilda and her rant about the benefits of resin in charms and how the traders at the market just ‘weren’t being careful enough, Claude!’ For once, Edelgard’s persistent raincloud of a retainer was nowhere to be seen.

“Ah, princess!” Claude exclaimed, flashing one of his most winsome smiles. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, stop with the flattery,” Edelgard said shortly. “I only came over to say Pawn to Queen’s Bishop four.”

A heartbeat passed as Claude stared at her. Then, his coy grin was replaced with a genuine smile and after a moment, Edelgard returned it.

“Your move,” she said. With a flip of her moonlight hair, she strode away.

“What in the world was that about?” Hilda asked incredulously.

“That, my dear Hilda,” Claude said, “was the beginning.”

The game continued in this fashion, each player taking advantage of stolen moments between classes or a pause in dinner debates. They never made more than one move per conversation and never did either of them suggest sitting down to continue the match with a proper board. There was something thrilling about this game, this waltz of strategy and memory. More than once, Hilda asked if each play was actually legitimate or if Claude was simply making his moves up on the spot. “I’d believe that of you,” she would say. “But how did you get Edelgard to go along with it? She seems like the last person to have a sense of humor…except for maybe Hubert.” Claude would merely grin, more than happy to let her—and everyone else—believe what they wished. Besides, it was interesting to listen to his classmates’ speculations, not to mention the wonders that it did for his ever-important reputation.

It didn't take long for Claude to realize that the match was a great way to keep his mind appeased when the frustration of misinformation and useless tomes threatened to get the better of him. He would snap his book closed, seek out Edelgard, and implement the latest move in his carefully crafted strategy. Pieces would be captured—or not—and the odd pair would continue about their business.

It was convenient that Edelgard was one of the few individuals who burned the midnight oil as often as Claude did. He had to pass by her room on the way to his own and it was not unusual to see light flooding from beneath her door well into the night. On one such occasion, when sleep was being particularly elusive, Claude grabbed a spare piece of parchment from his desk and scrawled the words ‘Bishop to Queen’s Rook six,’ upon its surface. He then stepped into the deserted corridor, strode softly to her room, and slipped the note beneath her door. An hour later found him seconds from extinguishing his bedside candle when a scuffling sound in the hall caught his attention. He glanced toward his door in time to see a scrap of parchment slide beneath it, followed shortly by the sound of retreating footsteps. His lips twitched and he padded across the floor, bent down, and unfolded the slip of paper.

‘Knight captures Bishop’ had been written across it in elegant script.

He should have been annoyed.

Instead, he smiled.

It wasn't long before the game had woven its way into Claude’s every day and he found he looked forward to these little moments with Edelgard. They were a consistent bit of calm in an otherwise turbulent year, particularly as the torrent of unfortunate occurrences showed no sign of relenting.

Things only got worse after the Remire village tragedy. Even Edelgard had begun to look paler of late. Her usually bright eyes were tired and her proud shoulders wilted, as though bending beneath some unfathomable weight. Still, she played the game, her sharp mind capturing Claude’s pieces even as he captured hers.

As the days wore on, the shroud of Remire was lightened by the promise of the coming ball. Excitement returned on wings of anticipation as students and faculty alike began to hope that, this month at least, things might be better.

The only downside of this new, jovial air was that Edelgard now seemed to be in the constant company of Hubert and Monica von Ochs. The three of them could often be seen in each other’s presence, speaking in low voices with their heads pressed closely together. Claude had taken part in enough schemes to know what planning one looked like, though he knew better than to ask Edelgard about it. She hadn't sought him out nearly as much since these hushed meetings had begun, and he had to content himself with slipping scraps of paper beneath her door. These at least, she continued to respond to.

The eve of the ball found Claude with another piece of parchment in his hand, taking a moment from pouring over the pages of another ancient and useless book to implement the next move in his strategy. He was surprised upon approaching Edelgard’s door to find that only shadows crept beneath, the usual glow from her candle extinguished. His steps slowed, his lips pressing together. It _was_ very late, though she had been up this late before. It seemed there was nothing for it but to slip the paper beneath her door and hope that she found it in the morning. He had just knelt down to do so when a sudden exclamation from inside nearly knocked him off his feet. 

“No! Don’t!”

Claude’s eyes snapped up, the paper falling from his fingertips. A sob followed the initial outburst and then a second cry sent goosebumps crawling across his skin.

“Please stop! Stop! Save them!”

“Princess!?” Claude knocked on the door then, when he received no response, threw it open and rushed inside. Pale moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the imperial princess as she writhed in her bed. There was no one else in the room. Claude crossed to her bedside, all thoughts for decorum forgotten.

“Hey,” he hissed, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Edelgard sat bolt upright, her eyes wild as they stared through Claude at horrors he could not see.

“No!” she cried again. “Let me go!” A glint of moon-kissed metal was the only warning Claude got before a dagger was arcing toward his head. He moved without thinking, grabbing the young woman’s wrist and preventing the blade from biting into his skin by the breath of an inch. She wailed, her free hand clawing at him with a desperation that bordered on feral.

“Edelgard! It’s me! Wake up!” Claude managed to get a hand around her other wrist before she scratched his eyes out. Her frenzied gaze at last met his, her usually perfect hair unbound and falling around her face. It made her look vulnerable and so very, very young. She froze, her shoulders heaving. Tears streamed down her face and Claude found himself resisting the urge to wipe them away.

“Claude?” Edelgard’s voice was a tremulous whisper.

“Hey,” he said quietly. Gently.

Slowly, so slowly, Edelgard’s eyes moved to the dagger in her hand, the one still poised above his head. She gasped and pulled her arm back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t…” She was trembling, an aftereffect of whatever visions had plagued her mind. Claude released her wrists and she seemed to shrink in on herself. Goddess, had she always been so _tiny?!_ He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with this version of Edelgard, so he did what he always did and fell back on wit.

“It was my fault. I’m the one who strode into your room,” he said. “I’m sure there will be quite a scandal in the morning if anyone saw me.”

Edelgard merely stared and Claude wondered if she had heard him at all.

“Why?” she asked finally. “Why…did you come in?”

His smile faltered. “Honestly? I thought you were being attacked,” he admitted. When she didn’t respond, he tried again for humor. “I promise I don’t usually barge into ladies’ rooms in the middle of the night… Particularly ones who keep such fine daggers beneath their pillows.”

Edelgard blinked at him—slowly, lethargically—and Claude found himself wondering if part of her mind was still caught in the hell that had haunted her dreams.

“It was a gift,” she murmured and it took Claude a second to realize she was referring to the dagger.

“Is that right?” He kept his tone soft. She nodded—or at least gave the semblance of one. Claude studied her, something deep within him whispering that this was his chance to peek into the mind of Edelgard von Hresvelg. To prod at the secrets she was undoubtedly keeping from them.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

“Well, you’re clearly not being attacked and I really don’t have another reason to be in here,” he said, leaning away from her. “Besides, the longer I stay the more likely it is that Hubert will find me and _that_ is one headache I would gladly do without.” He rose to his feet and graced her with his usual crooked smile. “Have a good night, Princess.”

Claude turned his back on the woman. On her secrets. On the potential of a glimpse into the thoughts that spun behind those haunted eyes. Before tonight, he never would have thought of them that way. Before tonight, he might never have believed that Edelgard was entirely human. Not with that mind. Not with those features as sharp and beautiful as freshly cut crystal.

He made it two steps before her voice stopped him.

“Claude.”

He paused and turned around, glad to hear that a little of the usual Edelgard had found its way back into her tone.

“Yes?”

Edelgard tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone else,” she said to him. “It is… unbecoming of one in my position.”

Claude regarded her. _Leverage,_ the tactician in his mind whispered. _Use this. Learn something._

“Consider my lips sealed,” was all that he said.

The discarded slip of parchment waiting in the hall reminded him of why he had been walking past her door in the first place and he turned to look at her a final time. “Ah, before I forget…” he trailed off. Edelgard’s silhouette was framed by the thin, rectangular windows behind her, the crescent moon arcing like a crown above her head. It was striking. She was striking. Like moonlight given corporeal form.

The princess raised an eyebrow in a way that was entirely herself, proof that the shadows in her mind had at last retreated. “Yes?” she asked.

Claude cleared his throat. “Knight to King’s Rook five,” he said to her. “Your move.”

The ball proved to be every bit the elegant affair that had been promised. There was dancing, flirting, fraternizing, everything Claude had expected to see in such a grandiose gathering of nobles. While many ladies had dressed in striking outfits that glittered like captured starlight in the chandeliers’ glow, Claude found his eyes drawn again and again to Edelgard. On more than one occasion he could have sworn he felt her eyes too. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he doubted it. He’d always harbored a particular penchant for observance. Surviving multiple assassination attempts would do that to a person.

The pair kept their distance, each one juggling enough dance partners to keep them occupied for a long while. It wasn’t until much later, when Claude was finally able to extract himself for some much-needed air, that he stumbled upon the imperial princess entirely by accident.

Edelgard stood beneath the stars, a faraway look in her eyes, though she turned as he approached. For a moment, he could have sworn she’d been crying, such was the sadness he saw on her face. Yet in the time it took him to blink, the sadness was gone.

They exchanged pleasantries and he asked her to dance, a proposition to which she graciously accepted. The two swayed to a melody of rustling leaves and cricket song, their only witnesses the stars above. She might have rested her cheek against his shoulder and he might have pulled her close, the scent of her hair more alluring than the most succulent greenhouse bloom.

But the moment would not last, Claude knew. Sooner or later one of the Golden Deer was likely to wonder where he’d gone off to, and doubtless Hubert would be along soon. The man seemed forever loath to allow Edelgard from his sight for more than a few minutes. Claude looked down at her and she looked up at him. He wasn’t sure when something had shifted between them, but he also knew that he couldn’t be the only one who felt it. Not when she was looking at him like that. 

“Claude…” Edelgard began.

“Hm?”

“I…” she began, then stopped. “Thank you for this year. This game that we’ve been playing…” she trailed off and for a moment Claude wasn’t sure if she was talking about chess or something else entirely. Something more. Something _deeper._ “It will end soon,” she finally finished.

As was often the case in those rare instances when he wasn’t sure what to say, Claude found himself smiling. “You’re that confident in your strategy?” he asked.

“I am,” she responded. For just a moment, Claude felt the weight that those two words carried and, for the first time, he thought he brushed the edge of the burden that she bore. Then Edelgard took a deliberate step back and gave him a small, sad smile. “Thank you for everything Claude,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Claude studied her, his feelings hidden behind the jester’s mask. He wanted to ask why she was apologizing. He wanted to tell her that he was grateful for their game and the peace of mind it had lent to them both. He wanted to tell her that he was willing to help share her burdens if only she would let him.

But in the end, she would lead the Empire while he wrangled the Alliance, and some burdens weren’t meant to be shared.

“It’s your move,” he said, all the words he left unspoken swallowed by the night.

“Yes,” Edelgard responded. “It is.” She turned her eyes to the heavens, as though seeking something there that she could not find in Fodlan. The wind gave a melancholy sigh and their eyes met again. “Queen captures Rook,” she murmured. 

Then the imperial princess walked away and did not look back.

Claude let her go.

The next day, Jeralt Eisner was killed.

The game had not finished when the world fell apart.

Claude should have been outraged upon discovering just who's face it was that had lurked behind the Flame Emperor's mask. Instead, he felt a dull sort of grief and, while he hadn't known the truth, he was much less surprised than he should have been. Perhaps that was what startled him most of all. 

Then there was no time to think about anything else. No time to dwell on the fact that the professor had left with Edelgard and would now be facing them on the opposite side of a battlefield. No time to consider that Claude had been only one step from victory in the little game he and Edelgard had played. No time to dwell on the fact that, while he had been ruminating on this impending success, she had been raising an army. Perhaps he had been nothing but a pawn on her board the entire time. Perhaps he had been a fool for thinking otherwise.

The game ended in the aftermath of bloodshed.

The once pristine streets of Derdriu were choked with smoke, debris and corpses clogging the thoroughfares in the wake of the battle. Edelgard had managed to claim her victory on the intellect of Byleth Eisner and her own willingness to bathe her hands in blood. Now Claude knelt in her shadow, Failnaught supporting most of his weight as his eyes bore into her own.

“Come, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said, his dark silhouette blending with the angry plumes of smoke greedily devouring what was left of the port. “Let us be done with this.”

Edelgard wore crimson armor, the colored plate doing nothing to camouflage the blood that coated its surface. Her eyes were twin pools of steel as they regarded Claude, as closed and cold as a tomb in Faerghus. This woman was a far cry from the girl Claude had seen tangled in her bedsheets five years ago, her haunted eyes brimming with the ghosts of relived horrors. He wondered if she still had those nightmares or if the blood had washed those away too. 

But such thoughts no longer mattered. Edelgard had picked her path and forced the rest of Fodlan to follow in the wake of that decision. Claude’s own aspirations had drowned in the tidal wave of her ambition and now she held the final say to whether he lived or died. Hers would be the stroke that fell…or didn’t. There would be no Goddess-wrought miracle to save the Alliance today. The deity had abandoned them the moment the professor had allied with Edelgard. This was checkmate for him, but he had one final trick up his sleeve. 

He wondered if she would remember. He wondered if she would care.

“Claude…”

While so much else had changed, her voice at least had remained the same. It transported him back to a night when the stars had remained unsullied by smoke, and music had carried through the monastery on the wind’s breath. She had been so close to him then, as close as she was now. Closer. Yet they had never been further apart.

Edelgard’s hand tightened on her relic and a glimmer of indecision flickered through her eyes.

“It looks like the game is over,” Claude said to her. “Well done, Edelgard. But it should come as no surprise to you that I have one more thing to say.”

Edelgard’s eyes narrowed scrutinizingly, as though unsure if he was jesting or not. It was such a familiar expression for such a familiar scenario that Claude’s chest tightened painfully.

“Then choose your next words carefully,” she finally said. “I'm sure I don't have to tell you that your life rests in my hands.”

Claude knelt in the heart of this broken city, his dreams for Fodlan shattered as thoroughly as the bodies that lay around him. Yet even now, when the world was at its darkest, he held fast to the final card he had to play. To this small victory he'd managed to wrangle for himself. 

He smiled as he looked at the emperor. “Knight to King’s Bishop three,” he said to her.

For a moment Edelgard simply stared at him. Then her eyes widened as understanding dawned. 

“Checkmate.”

**Author's Note:**

> To all you chess whizzes out there, please forgive me if I got the descriptions/moves wrong at any point. I did some research on the old notation and did my best xD Please forgive any blunders >< I hope that you all enjoyed it! 
> 
> Cat you are an absolute rockstar and I hope that you enjoyed this!! <3 <3 <3 EDELCLAUDE RIGHTS!
> 
> I have a [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/NightMereBear) for art, writing, and sometimes singing if you like that sort of thing :D


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